


Pictures Scattered Through 1000 Frames

by mitslits



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M, arthur newman au, but it's implied that it could happen, no actual rape occurs, so i figured the tag should be there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-07
Updated: 2016-05-07
Packaged: 2018-06-06 21:15:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6770179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Hart and Eggsy Unwin have only one thing in common: both of them are running from pasts they no longer want to remember. When they bump into each other they find out that playing pretend is much more fun when you have someone else to do it with. But nobody can outrun themselves and neither of them are an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pictures Scattered Through 1000 Frames

**Author's Note:**

> This is an Arthur Newman AU. I give full credit for the overarching plot structure and the setup of most scenes to those who worked on that movie, including Dante Ariola, the director, and Becky Johnston, who wrote the screenplay. 
> 
> There are several lines where Harry and Eggsy first meet that directly correspond to the movie, as well as a few others scattered throughout the fic. 
> 
> Any resemblance to the characters in Arthur Newman is completely and 100% intentional cause hey. That was the challenge. ;)

This is where he finds himself. This is where Harry Newman truly becomes a new man, not just Harry Hart playing at being Harry Newman. He’s already ditched his old identity, ditched his old car, ditched the illusion of life that he’d been living for fifty-two years, but he’d not really been anyone new. Not until now. 

This is where he finds himself, hunched over in an old, plastic chair in a strange hospital, staring at a pale, skinny boy that looks like he’s trying to match the snowy bedsheets. 

It’s in this moment that he so suspected was going to be a conclusion. Turns out to only be a beginning when he makes to get up and the boy pleads ‘stay’, asks not to be left alone pitifully enough that he sits back down. 

“…I’ll stay until you’re asleep.” 

52\. Every year Harry Hart’s grandmother sent him a calendar and when she’d died his mother had continued that tradition. He never threw a single one of them out, kept them all stacked in a corner of his room. It gradually disappeared under books or clothes, the normal accumulation of objects in a bedroom. 

When his wife had left him she’d taken most of that accumulation with her, leaving him with a stack of 52 calendars piled in the corner of the room. 52 goddamn calendars. 

Harry leans forwards in the chair, wincing as it creaks underneath him. He almost shushes it. He peers intently at the younger man’s face, the closed charcoal-smudged eyes, rhythmic up and down movement of his chest. This is it, then. His work here is done. He starts to push himself to his feet, gets about halfway up before his movement is interrupted. 

“’M not asleep,” the boy slurs, one eye sliding open lazily. 

Harry suppresses a sigh. He sits back down. The chair creaks. 

The wind pushes his hair back, whipping up the waves and sending sea-salt air into his face. His eyes flutter closed and he tilts his head back, bathes in the red-orange rays of the setting sun. He’s ready to let this go, he thinks. There isn’t much to let go of anyways. 

With a feeling of finality, he stuffs his wallet inside his right shoe and hauls himself up, blinking out at the waves. He reaches out with one bare foot and pushes a beer bottle over. It tips over with a dull thud, settling into its new state. Fuck settling. Harry’s done with settling. 

It’s a short trek back to his newly purchased car. He starts it up and doesn’t glance in the rearview mirror as he drives off.  
There’s an ache in his shoulder when Harry blinks awake. That’s what comes of falling asleep in a chair like this, he thinks, rolling it back to try and ease the dull throbbing some. His back cracks when he stands up, another sign that he really shouldn’t have spent the night sitting up like that. His eyes seek out the figure on the bed. 

He seems to truly be asleep now, head tilted to one side, chin tucked up against his shoulder, fingers curled loosely in the sheets. Dyed-black hair falls over one of his eyes and Harry feels a strange urge to push it back behind his ear. It’s a poor dye job, one he’s done himself a long time ago, judging by the looks of the blonde roots beginning to show. Everything about the boy looks like a poor dye job, if he’s being honest. Messy and half-thought out, the roots showing through despite it all.

Harry makes the sure the door doesn’t slam on his way out.

Dilapidated. One could search through the whole of the dictionary and the best word to describe this motel would still be just that: dilapidated.

But it’ll do for the night. He doesn’t plan on staying long. “Harry Newman,” he says for the first time when the receptionist asks for a name. “I’m… My name is Harry Newman.” He doesn’t feel much like him yet.

The receptionist crooks an eyebrow, but pencils the name into the registry. “Here you are, sir,” sliding a key across the counter. “Enjoy your stay.” 

He offers her a polite nod before stepping back into the parking lot. The blare of police sirens grabs his attention and his gait slows as he turns into just another rubber-necker, a small crowd already having amassed. 

They’re clustered around a car, two or three police cars lit up in red and blue ringing it. A couple officers mill about but they’re not the main attraction. That would be the scruffy, pot-bellied man launching himself at the car. 

“Get the fuck outta there!” he yells, slapping the hood. “Slut.”

The slut in question has one hand wrapped loosely around the steering wheel, a cigarette in the other. He flicks it towards the windshield. It hits the glass harmlessly, sputtering out. 

One of the officers yanks open the door of the car, reaches in to haul him out. He doesn’t come easily. 

“Fuckin’ touchin’ me,” he snaps, twisting in the officer’s grasp even as the policeman wraps an arm around his waist. “I know my rights!” The hood of his jacket, previously pulled over his head, falls off as he squirms. “Ask your wife what I was doin’ there, how I got the keys to your car,” he shrieks, the edge of hysteria in his voice at odds with the smirk on his face.

The scruffy man takes a step back, eyes narrowing.

The officer slams the boy down over the hood of the car and he groans, pressing his face against the cool metal. “Can’ do this to me,” he mutters even as his hands are yanked behind his back, his wrists secured by handcuffs. His voice ratchets up a couple notches as he does his best to look at the group gathered around. “Show’s over.” And the police pull him away.

\- 

Harry sits on the edge of the hotel bed, flipping through channel after channel. He’s just started on the third run-through when he realizes crap television is crap television. So he clicks it off and tosses the remote onto the second bed, leans back against the headboard of his. A second later he straightens up, the faint sound of a voice filtering through his window capturing his attention. 

Slowly he peels back the curtains, glancing outside. He has a view of a short strip of the parking lot, the pool deck just beyond it. There’s a figure sprawled on one of the deck chairs, wailing drunkenly. 

“An’ you knoooow there’s more,” the boy sings, loudly and off-key, one arm waving in the air like he’s conducting an imaginary orchestra. “But I can’t take another minute… of it aaaall.” 

At this point Harry’s opening the gate to the pool, eyes narrowing as he takes in the scene. It’s the boy from before, the one he’d watched get arrested. Has to be him. Same black hair, same oversized hoodie, same dark leggings underneath short, cut-off denims. And the same thick British accent, so very out of place in Florida. 

He sits on the desk chair next to him and the boy stops singing, half-lidded eyes flicking up towards him warily. “I’m Harry, Harry Newman,” he says by way of introduction. There’s only silence, the boy blinking lazily once, twice, three times. “Are you okay?” he finally asks. 

When there’s still no reply he reaches out to shake his shoulder, see if he’s even still awake. 

“Don’ touch me,” he slurs, flinching away from him and Harry raises his hands in placation. 

“Alright,” he assures him. “I won’t touch you.” The boy doesn’t say anything to that, just huddles further into his hoodie. For a brief moment Harry considers just going back into his room and pretending like he’d never noticed anything, but he doesn’t think he would feel quite right about that. He takes a closer look at him, the labored breaths, the dark circles under his eyes that aren’t just makeup, the way his hands shake just slightly. “You should see a doctor.”

His head flops from one side to the other in a parody of dissent. “Don’ touch me,” he repeats, making no move to get up himself. 

Sighing, Harry pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course he’s going to be difficult. “Then you touch me,” he snaps and that seems to make him pay attention. “Put your arms around my neck and I’ll lift you up that way. No hands.” 

The boy looks at him for a moment, jaw jutting out slightly as he mulls it over. In the en he doesn’t say anything, just winds an arm around Harry’s neck, draping the other one over top of it. 

Harry rises to his feet, one arm slipping under his legs, the other wrapping around his back. The boy’s head is pillowed on his chest and the grip around his neck tightens slightly. 

“You said no hands,” he reminds him, but he doesn’t sound too upset about it. 

There’s a battered duffel bag Harry couldn’t see before sitting on the other side of the deck chair and he carefully leans down to pick it up, slinging it over his shoulder. “Yes, well, that was unrealistic.” 

-

There’s a mess of seemingly unrelated objects in this bag, Harry discovers as he rifles through it, searching for some form of identification. The receptionist at the hospital is looking at him with eyes full of judgment despite absolutely none of this being his fault. Huffing, he fishes out a wallet, flipping it open with one hand, the other trapped by the deadweight leaning against him. 

The boy looks even worse under the harsh hospital lights, face pale as anything, eyes rimmed in red as well as black. He’s groaning incoherently, no help at all as he’s pressed for his name. 

“Gary Unwin, is this you? Are you Gary Unwin?” he asks, quickly scanning the driver’s license he’s tugged out of the wallet. The boy in the picture looks pretty similar despite being completely blonde and he flashes it at the receptionist before shoving it in ‘Gary’s’ line of vision. 

The boy sways off of Harry, collapsing against the front of the desk instead. “Nah, ‘s Eggsy. Unwin.” 

The receptionist accepts the license with a dubious glance at the two of them. 

-

‘This waiting room would be far more bearable without the ticking clock,’ Harry thinks, glaring daggers up at the infernal thing as the second hand chugs along. He’s already sick of listening to it. “What do you know about the car theft that happened earlier this evening?” he asks the police officer standing off to one side, scribbling on a clipboard. He needs to hear something other than that damned clock. “Just out of curiosity,” he tacks on. 

The policeman looks up from his work, smiling wryly. “I know you just brought in the thief.” His eyes drop back to the form he’s filling out. 

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick-

“I wasn’t trying to be a hero,” he pipes up. “I don’t even know him.”

“Neither did the owner of the car,” the officer says, not bothering to look up this time. “He’s not pressing charges, wife says she gave him the keys of her own volition. Just a fucked up marriage, if you ask me. The kid was in the wrong place at the wrong time. And the wife liked the accent.” 

“Harry Newman?” a doctor calls, stepping into the gap in the conversation. 

Harry stands, giving the officer a nod as he passes him. Wrong place, wrong time. He knows that story. 

The doctor leads him down a dimly lit corridor at a brisk walk, speaking as they go. “Your boy overdosed on cough syrup. Very powerful narcotic. He drank two bottles, said it was for a, and I quote, ‘bad cough’. We had to pump his stomach and set him up on an IV, but he’ll recover by morning.” 

Harry takes it all in stride. “Cough syrup,” he muses. There’d been a couple bottles clanking around in the bag; now he knows what for. 

The doctor halts in front of a room and gestures towards the door with his pen. “He’s in there,” he informs him and doesn’t wait around to see what Harry will do. He disappears back the way they’ve come without another word. 

Harry doesn’t have anything better to do the next morning except pull around to the front of the hospital and come to a halt in front of Eggsy. ‘Why not?’ he figures. He’s said goodbye to responsibility and he’s not planning on reintroducing himself anytime soon. 

Eggsy doesn’t exactly look surprised to see him, just flicks his eyes over the flashy convertible, tugging his hood up over his head. His bag is slung carelessly over one shoulder and, from the looks of things, he hasn’t dug out the extra clothes, given he’s in the same ensemble he’d been wearing when Harry had dragged him to the hospital the previous night. In the light of day he looks even worse, skinnier than Harry had first imagined. Paler, too, from what skin he can actually see. 

“You said you would stay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very accusatory. He moves before Harry has a chance to respond, tossing his bag in the backseat and hopping over the passenger side door with more grace than Harry would have expected him to have. Folding his arms over his chest he settles back into the seat, tilting his head up slightly, eyes sliding closed. 

When it appears he isn’t planning on saying anything else, Harry starts up the car. “Where do you want to go?” 

Eggsy doesn’t even open his eyes. 

“Guess that means anywhere,” Harry mutters under his breath. Well. Looks like they’re going to end up where they end up. He’s not complaining. It isn’t until they pull onto the interstate that the wind whips Eggsy’s hood away from his face and Harry realizes his eyes are open. 

-

They stop at a gas station when Harry’s at a half tank. He fills up anyways, inefficient as it might be, some instinct left over from his old life urging him not to let getting stranded be even the shadow of a possibility. “Want anything?” he asks, leaning against the rear bumper of the car, one hand wrapped loosely around the pump. 

The back of Eggsy’s head shakes once. 

“Well, I’m getting something,” he mutters, pump clicking off. He gets back in just long enough to drive them into an actual parking space before heading into the store, leaving Eggsy to watch everything. For a brief moment his thoughts flash to his own bag full of money locked in his trunk, but that’s the operative word. Locked. It’ll be fine. 

That sense of security evaporates when he comes out to find Eggsy sprawled in the driver’s seat nonchalantly fanning himself with a stack of said money from said duffel bag. “You took forever.” 

For a second Harry just stands there, the chocolate bar he’d purchased melting in his hand. “That was locked,” he finally says when he finds his voice. 

“Yeah? Didn’t notice.” Eggsy grins, sitting up and sliding back into the passenger seat. He tosses the bundle in Harry’s direction and pats the driver’s seat cushion. 

Harry nearly drops his chocolate bar, reflexively reaching up to catch the money as it flies past his head. “Regardless of whether or not you broke into my car, which you did, you shouldn’t be waving it around like that,” he hisses, yanking open the trunk door with a bit more force than necessary. 

Eggsy rolls his eyes, twisting his upper body around to watch Harry toss the money back where it belongs. “Relax, bruv, nobody’s payin’ us any attention.” He waves his hand around at the near empty lot to make his point. “An’ I was already sittin’ in your car. It was the trunk I broke into,” he adds, smirking and flipping back to face front. 

Harry breathes out heavily through his nose, eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers, curled around the edge of the trunk door, tighten their grip slightly, knuckles going white. After a moment he slams the trunk shut and slips back into the driver’s seat, starting the car up again without another word to Eggsy.

He doesn’t say anything either. 

-

Did Harry see his new life involving a sullen, disillusioned twenty-four year old when he first set out to create it? No, not exactly. Which is why he finds himself looking for a bus station as soon as Eggsy falls asleep. 

The decision to pull into the next Greyhound they come across is split second, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad one. He didn’t ask to get saddled with some stranger he met in a cough-syrup induced stupor on the pool deck of a roadside motel. Besides, it’s not like he’s got a plan for any of this; dragging someone else into his mess wouldn’t be fair to either of them. So he puts the car in park and snatches Eggsy’s bag out of the back. 

The younger man jerks awake when the car stops, blinking blearily at his surroundings. It doesn’t take him long to figure out where they are and he turns to Harry with something akin to betrayal on his face. “The fuck we doin’ at a bus station?” he asks, voice thick with sleep. “We gonna ditch your car or somethin’?” 

“Your license said Boone, North Carolina?” Harry asks meaningfully. 

All the blood drains out of Eggsy’s face at that, making him impossibly paler. He looks almost sick in the fluorescent glow of the station lights. “No, Harry- Mr. Newman, I don’t wanna go back there,” he pleads. Uselessly, it seems, as Harry is already moving off towards the bus station. He scrambles out of the car, spilling out onto the pavement with a curse. Gathering himself as quickly as he can, he dashes after Harry, babbling a mile a minute. “Is this about the money earlier? ‘M just good with locks is all, wasn’t gonna do anythin’ with it, swear down. I won’t touch it again, if that’s what you want.” 

Harry just marches resolutely onwards. “This isn’t about the money,” he declares firmly. There’s a brief break in the footsteps behind him before they speed up again, obviously trying to catch back up. Then he feels Eggsy’s hands wrapping around his wrist, the boy’s weight forcing him to stop briefly. He turns back to find him worrying his bottom lip, glancing up at him earnestly. 

“Please, mate, don’t make me go back there. Please,” he breathes. 

“One ticket to Boone,” Harry says, slapping down some crumpled bills on the counter. “One-way.” 

The teller glances down at the money, drawing it in and starting to enter the information. 

Eggsy’s hand splays across the glass desperately and he vehemently shakes his head. “No, we don’t need a ticket. Just give him the money back-“ 

“That was Boone, North Carolina?” the man asks, checking the routes. “That’ll mean a transfer. Will that be alright?” 

“Yes, that will be just fine.“

“We don’t need the fuckin’ ticket-“ 

“Here you are, sir.” The teller slides a ticket across the counter and Harry snatches it up quickly before Eggsy has a chance to grab it. “Thank you.” Then he’s moving away from the counter, back outside, checking the route number and scanning the buses that have already pulled in. 

Eggsy trails behind him sullenly, hands stuffed in his pockets. 

When it becomes clear that Eggsy’s bus isn’t there yet he runs a hand through his hair, letting out a quiet sigh. “Looks like we’ll have to wait for it… Eggsy?” The younger man isn’t right behind him like he’d thought and he glances back and forth, searching for him. 

The sound of raised voices reaches his ear and he turns towards it. The lights on this side of the bus station are dim, flickering on and off and he grows cautious as he moves toward the darker patch. Memories, Hart’s not Newman’s, start crowding in, but he shoves them down. He’s just going to see what’s happening. He doesn’t need to get involved. 

Or maybe he does. There are three on one, their figures tall and looming, grins as ugly as their intentions. A familiar figure is pressed up against one of the concrete pillars, cornered. 

“I ain’t nobody’s fuckin’ rentboy,” Eggsy snarls, shoving away the hand pawing at his chest. 

A round of laughter sweeps through the group of men. “Listen to him!” one of them crows. “I ain’t nobody’s fuckin’ rentboy,” he mocks, exaggerating his accent. 

“Shut up, Samuel,” the tallest one hisses and the man instantly falls silent. “If you aren’t a rentboy,” he says, swaggering over to Eggsy and cocking his head, “then why the hell are you dressed like that?” He moves quickly, threading his fingers through Eggsy’s hair and pinning his head back against the pillar. 

Before Eggsy has time to do anything more than let out a grunt of pain, Harry decides now would be a good time to step into the situation. He steps smoothly into the pallid circle of light, everything about him more relaxed than it should be given the circumstances. He notes the way Eggsy’s eyes slide over to look at him, widening slightly when he makes out who it is. “Good evening, gentlemen,” he starts politely. “I believe you have something of mine.” 

Samuel and his companion turn to face him but their leader is still too occupied with Eggsy to even spare him a glance. “Yeah?” he asks, and Eggsy glares up at him, top lip curling with disdain. “And what would that be?” As he speaks his head slowly turns until he’s got Harry in his sights. 

“The boy,” Harry says simply, ignoring the almost delighted grins that break out on the trio’s faces when they see just who it is they’re dealing with. He’s well aware that he looks his age. He’s also aware of what happens to people that underestimate him because of it. 

“What do you want us to do to him, Jackson?” Samuel asks, cracking his knuckles. 

Harry can’t help the glint of amusement that springs up in his eyes. He’d thought people only did that in movies. 

The leader, Jackson, it seems, doesn’t make any move to let Eggsy alone. If anything, he seems to tighten his hold on Eggsy’s hair, making the boy wince. “Nice try, old man. He said he didn’t belong to anyone.” 

“Yes, well,” Harry says, shrugging one shoulder casually. “Sometimes he likes to play at being independent. You can see how well that worked out.” 

Jackson just stares at him, unamused and unimpressed. “The two of you know what to do,” he says simply, turning his attention back to Eggsy. 

To both Harry’s and Jackson’s surprise Eggsy brings his hand up, clutching Jackson’s arm and adamantly shaking his head. “Nah, just let him go. Don’t need to do anythin’ with him if you’ve already got me, yeah?” 

For a second Jackson just blinks slowly at him. “No,” he finally acquiesces and Eggsy’s shoulders slump in relief. They tense right back up when he adds, “This is just for fun.” 

Samuel and the other man take that as their signal. They launch themselves at Harry in synchronicity, practically panting in their eagerness to feel flesh under their knuckles. 

“No, wait-,” Eggsy gasps out just before they reach Harry. 

It’s laughably easy. Frighteningly easy, in fact. He’d wanted to leave this part of him behind as much as everything else. From the corner of his eye he spots the first fist sailing towards him, ducks it almost without thinking. Lucky for him, that just happens to put Samuel directly into the path of the swing. 

Samuel takes the brunt of it in his nose, blood spraying outwards and he clamps a hand to his face, stumbling backwards. “Fucking fuck!” 

It’s the work of a moment for Harry to snap his leg out, sweeping it gracefully into Samuel’s ankles and knocking him to the ground. His head hits the pavement with a sickening thunk and Harry doesn’t envy the headache he’s going to have when he wakes up. A harsh yell yanks his focus back to the lackey still standing, fist spattered with Samuel’s blood.

He’s given up on finesse, bulling straight towards Harry, arms outstretched. 

He easily sidesteps him, planting a foot firmly on his backside as he stampedes past him and shoving him forwards. 

The thug windmills his arms for a few paces, trying to regain his balance, but ultimately pitches forwards. Harry has to give him credit for trying; he flips himself over and staggers back to his feet in record time, just in time to feel Harry’s hands wrap around the back of his neck, pulling him forwards again, towards his torso. Harry brings his knee up, feeling the cartilage of his assailant’s nose crack as he smashes into it. The man goes down, landing on the ground and moaning softly. 

That seems to be it for Jackson. He abandons his prize, striding angrily towards Harry’s turned back, a switchblade appearing from seemingly nowhere. 

Harry turns just in time to see the glint of it flashing towards him and only years of honed reflexes save him. He arches back gracefully, Jackson’s arm whipping through the space he’d just been standing in. For the first time he’s on the defensive, unable to recover quickly enough to take Jackson out before he’s back at him, grinning nastily. He moves backwards warily, watching his opponent for any sign that he’s about to lash out again. His eyes sharpen as he catches the slight tensing of his arm, readies himself for what’s inevitably coming. Sure enough, Jackson lunges a second later. 

Instead of leaping backwards, like Jackson thinks he will, he jumps forwards, crashing into him before he has time to swing the knife. His hand shoots out, catching him around the wrist and twisting cruelly until he’s forced to let go of the weapon, sends it clattering to the ground with a pained whimper. 

“Please don’t hurt me,” Jackson pleads, all bravado swept away in the face of an actual threat. 

Harry looks down at him scornfully. There’s a part of him that wants to end it all right here, make it so that this rat will never bother anyone again. He knows he could if he wanted. But that’s what Hart would do. And he’s already done enough of what Hart would do. So he releases him, shoving him backwards hard enough that he loses his balance and lands heavily with a groan. Harry sends the knife skidding away into the darkness with a vicious kick before kneeling in front of Jackson. 

He shrinks backwards but Harry only tilts his head, eyes narrowing before he straightens up. 

“Pathetic.” With that he’s off, heading back to his car without a backwards glance. 

Eggsy stares in stunned silence at the three men laid out on the pavement before peeling himself away from the pillar and taking off after Harry. He’s a tad out of breath when he reaches him, eyes wide as he looks up at his face. 

Harry mentally prepares himself for whatever it is Eggsy’s about to say next but to his relief the younger man stays silent, just trails a step or two behind him until he reaches his car. Wordlessly he unlocks it and gets in, Eggsy oscillating in front of the door uncertainly. “What are you waiting for?” he asks after a moment.  

At that Eggsy jerks his head up, mouth hanging open slightly, brow furrowed. Whatever he’d been about to say he swallows down, yanking open the passenger side door and sliding inside. He props one foot up on the dashboard. His quiet, “thanks” is lost to the roar of the engine as Harry brings it to life. 

-

The hotel they pull into that night is strikingly similar to the one they’d met in. Harry books two rooms, passes one key off to Eggsy. They haven’t said anything since the earlier incident and Harry doesn’t plan to. This is how things are now. Things change. He moves on. Adapts, if you will. 

He finds himself staring at his reflection in the mirror. The eyes look a bit less empty than he remembers and he squeezes them shut. He doesn’t want the sign of life to be from that earlier display. That can’t be who he is anymore. He switches on the faucet, fills his hands with cold water and splashes it on his face in an attempt to ground himself. 

The knock on the door jerks him out of this thoughts and he flicks the water off, groping for a towel to wipe it out of his eyes. When he swings open the door he feels words escape him. 

Eggsy doesn’t even look at him as he brushes past, clad only in an oversized T-shirt that barely goes halfway down his thighs. “Couldn’t sleep in my room,” he says by way of explanation, quickly ascertaining which bed Harry has claimed as his and collapsing into the other one. He slips under the sheets, burrowing in and pulling them up to his chin. Which at least takes away the distraction of him being half-naked. 

Still, Harry slowly eases himself into his own bed, silent as Eggsy reaches for the remote and flicks on the television. “Is your family in Boone?” he asks after a particularly bad joke that the laugh track insists is funny. His eyes flicker over towards the pale form in the bed just long enough to see his lip curl up at the mention.

“Sure you wanna talk about this, Mr. Hart?” Eggsy snaps, hand tightening around the remote. 

“There’s not much else to- What did you call me?” It had taken a bit for him to realize what was out of place. Answering to his old name was, after all, a deeply ingrained habit. 

Eggsy looks at him then, head lolling to one side. Harry half expects an insolent grin to come with it but instead his face is all stone, jaw set stubbornly and eyes hard as flint. “You heard me. Found an old license in the trunk of your car. You’re runnin’ away just as much as I am so why don’t you shut the fuck up about it?” 

The television clicks to black and Eggsy slams the remote down on the nightstand, turning his back to Harry and tugging the sheets closer around him. 

Harry looks at him for a long moment. Reaches up. Turns the lamp off. Stares up into the darkness and tries not to think. 

-

He wakes to the cloying scent of grease and fat, prying one eye open to find Eggsy fully dressed and sitting cross-legged in the exact center of the other bed, licking at his fingers. There’s a crumpled McDonald’s bag slumped on the nightstand, a couple of wrappers balled up beside it. The smell, though decidedly unappealing, does remind him that it’s been a while since he ate. He sits up, scrubbing a hand over his face. 

“Thought you’d never get up,” Eggsy says, pulling his fingers out of his mouth with a smacking pop. “Got somethin’ in there for you, thought it could- holy shit.” 

Instantly Harry perks up, startled awake by his tone. “What is it?” he asks, voice low and husky after a night of sleep. His eyes are already darting around the room to see what could have possibly startled him. 

Eggsy’s lips are pressed together in a thin line and his eyes sparkle. He reaches a hand up towards his own hair, an undignified giggle escaping him. “Harry, mate… did you stick a fork in a socket while I was gone?” The laugh he’d been holding in comes bubbling up as Harry goes cross-eyed in an attempt to see the unruly shock of curls. 

Heaving a massive sigh, Harry rakes a hand through his hair, but that does little more than rile it up further. Giving it up for the moment he snatches up the bag, digging out the most unappealing breakfast he’s ever seen. “What is this?” he asks, holding up the limp biscuit piled with rubbery egg and something that only vaguely resembles the meat it’s supposed to be. 

Shrugging, Eggsy holds out his hand. “You don’t want it, I’ll eat it.” 

He’s about to hand it over when his stomach growls impatiently and he reconsiders. “Thanks for breakfast.” He sinks his teeth into it (it turns out to be just as bad as he expected) and only notices Eggsy’s soft smile out of the corner of his mouth. 

-  
A list of cons about his unexpected traveling companion. He turns up the radio far too loud and plays terrible music. He insists on keeping the top down at all times, even when it rains. He wears distractingly tight jeans. 

A list of pros about his unexpected traveling companion. He sings along with all that bad music and he’s not bad at it. He looks like a vision with his head tipped backward, pale neck exposed and mouth open wide to catch raindrops. He wears distractingly tight jeans. 

They still don’t talk much, either in the car or at night when they’re holed up in the first roadside motel they come across after Harry gets tired enough to stop for the night. Still. Harry thinks they get along well enough. 

-  
“You are not,” Eggsy scoffs, elbowing him in the ribs. “An’ lyin’ ain’t attractive.” 

It’s a warm day but Eggsy seems loath to abandon darker colors, still dressed in black. He’s ditched the hoodie, but he’s still wriggled his way into black jeans that look almost painted on. 

“I am,” Harry insists, not at all fazed by his disdain. 

“Prove it.” The challenge is issued around a mouthful of peanut butter and banana sandwich and Harry tsks disapprovingly. 

“Manners, Eggsy,” he says, but all he gets for his trouble is an exasperated huff. 

“You’re stallin’, bruv,” Eggsy says, but he swallows all the same.

Harry sweeps his arm out to indicate the barren meadow around the wooden picnic table they’re seated at, eyebrows raising. “Just what do you expect me to prove it with?” 

Eggsy’s eyes narrow as if he hasn’t considered that. Then his face lights up and he jumps to his feet, raising one finger. “Hang on.” He dashes back to the car, bending over the back side door and hauling up his bag, giving Harry an excellent view of just how tight his jeans are. 

Resolutely looking away, Harry glances back over the mostly empty field. There’s a stunted tree struggling to grow and an old, abandoned truck parked underneath it, but nothing beyond that. Suddenly there’s an object being thrust into his face, Eggsy’s excited ‘here!’ right in his ear. He rears back a bit to see what exactly it is and furrows his brow when he figures it out. “A slingshot?” he asks incredulously. “Eggsy, the term ‘expert marksman’ usually refers to someone who works with firearms. This is not a firearm.” 

Shrugging, Eggsy keeps it offered out to him, shakes it a little as if that will make it more inviting. “C’mon, you were just braggin’ about how you could hit a bullseye with anythin’. I specifically remember you sayin’ anythin’.” 

He had said anything. “Why the hell do you even have a slingshot?” he growls, snatching it away from him anyways. 

Eggsy’s grin, crooked, triumphant, doesn’t falter at Harry’s harsh tone. “For provin’ that you’re a liar,” he retorts, ducking underneath the table. Before Harry has a chance to ask what he thinks he’s doing down there he pops back up with a sizeable rock in his hand. “Go on, then,” he says, nodding towards the tree. 

The rational part of his brain is saying that he doesn’t have to prove anything to Eggsy, but there’s another part of it urging him to show off for this boy who’s beginning to look a little more alive day by day. Reluctantly he tests the draw, pounds the rock into the pouch a few times to fit the leather to it. He settles it in, glances at the tree with a critical eye, takes a deep breath and lets it out as he pulls the sling back. He acts more on instinct after that, drawing it back just as far as he thinks it needs to be and releasing before he can think too much. 

Eggsy’s mouth drops open as the rock thwacks firmly into the trunk of the tree, bark chips flying up as unmistakable proof. He quickly composes himself as Harry casts a smug glance his way, shrugging one shoulder. “Huge target. Anyone could hit that.” 

“Fine, then,” Harry says, feeling much more confident. “Find me another rock and I’ll send it straight through that truck’s window.” 

Instantly Eggsy drops to his knees, scrambling back under the table in search of another good-sized rock. It takes him a bit longer this time but eventually he reemerges, waiting impatiently for Harry to line up the shot. 

Harry pulls it back to full draw, watches Eggsy bite his lip and lean forward with curiosity. So he drops it a bit, looking over at him sternly. “And if I make this you’ll admit that I wasn’t lying?” he presses. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Eggsy concedes, nodding. “Now just take the fuckin’ shot, will you?” 

Suppressing a smile, Harry brings the slingshot back up, making this shot just as smooth as the first. True to his word, the rock sails gracefully forwards, air splintering with the sound of shattered glass. 

This time Eggsy can’t swallow down his awe so easily. 

Harry clears his throat, cocking his head to one side. “Didn’t you have something you wanted to say to me?” he asks innocently, wresting his attention away from the newly broken window. 

“Yeah, alright,” Eggsy admits, amused smile dancing across his lips and sparkling in his eyes. “Might be you’re an expert marksman after all.” 

Satisfied, Harry nods, standing and passing the slingshot back to Eggsy. “And now, for falsely accusing me of being a liar, you can put our things back in the car,” he says. He ignores Eggsy’s dramatic groan. 

There isn’t much to clean up, just a plastic cup and two plates and Harry keeps his eyes fixed on the truck, admiring his handiwork as Eggsy gathers them up. There’s a long stretch of silence after that, suspiciously long, and he turns to find Eggsy gone. 

There’s nothing around for miles except the bus station on the other side of the road and Harry’s heart unreasonably skips a beat. “Eggsy?” he calls. The only answer is a hiss from a bus about to leave, the rumble of its engine starting up. “Eggsy!” He dashes across the road as it starts to pull out, rumbling slowly onto the asphalt. Frantically his eyes scan the tinted windows, looking for the familiar face. 

Then a voice calls, “Harry,” and the bus pulls away to reveal Eggsy, hand shading his eyes as he looks towards the station’s entrance. “Look.” He points and Harry follows the line of his arm, turns his head to see an elderly couple tottering down the steps.

The man is dressed in a shabby suit, the woman’s head adorned with a wispy wedding veil. They walk arm in arm, smiling up into each other’s faces on occasion as they head for the only vehicle in the lot: an old, rusted truck with ‘Just Married’ painted in swooping white letters on the back window. 

Harry moves to stand at Eggsy’s shoulder, both of their eyes tracking the elderly couple. 

The man opens the door for his wife before moving to get into the driver’s seat. The rusty vehicle groans to life, exhaust popping as it snakes its way onto the road, slowly gaining speed. As it rattles away a wisp of white lace flies out of the window, the old bride’s veil tumbling to the asphalt below. 

Almost before it’s landed Eggsy is there, snatching it up and running for the car. “C’mon, Harry, we’ll lose them!” He doesn’t bother opening the door, opting instead to vault over it and bouncing impatiently in the passenger seat. “C’mon!” he repeats, blasting the horn to hurry him on. 

Caught up in his inexplicable excitement, Harry makes for the car. He starts it up and they head after the truck. By now the other vehicle is only a small dot in the distance. 

There’s little chance of policemen on a road like this and Harry decides the speed limit is just a suggestion, urging the car ever faster until the truck is more than just a speck. Eggsy lifts his arm, letting the veil stream behind him gracefully as if the woman is looking back for it and he wants to show her he’s saved it. 

Harry gives him a bit of a look but he just laughs, a low, delicious sound that Harry savors. 

They follow them until they grind to a halt in front of a run-down old home. The woman sits primly in the truck while the man disappears inside. He emerges with two briefcases, settling them in the truck’s bed and slamming up the tailgate just as Harry and Eggsy pull up. 

“You’ll have to hurry if you want to give that back to her,” Harry mutters just as the truck starts up again. But Eggsy makes no move to chase after them, just waits until they’re on their way again before getting out and walking towards the porch. When he doesn’t just drape the veil over the doorknob Harry sits up, brow furrowing. He watches as the younger man tests the door, peering into the windows with his hands cupped around his eyes. “Eggsy?” 

He glances back at him, a delighted smile on his face as he hops off the porch and hurries around to the back of the house, the veil still clutched in one hand. 

“What-?” Harry starts after him, thoroughly confused. “Just put the veil on the porch, they’ll see it when they come back,” he says, but Eggsy is already fiddling with the weak lock on the back door. 

Eggsy ignores him and his protests until he hears a soft click, casting an almost wicked look over his shoulder before disappearing into the house. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Harry hisses, lingering at the threshold. Only silence answers him. Stifling a groan, he steps inside, glancing around almost warily. He’s not used to breaking into empty houses and some of the old tension seeps into his shoulders, makes him cautious. Movement at the top of the stairs has him spinning, hands curling into fists reflexively but a quick glance reveals it’s only Eggsy. He blinks, entirely taken aback by his altered appearance. 

A familiar smirk twitches over his lips but gone are the tight, black clothes. In their place is a plain, white wedding dress, the veil he’d picked up perched on his head. There’s a smattering of lace and pearls around the neckline and the ivory only serves to draw Harry’s attention to how pale he still is despite all the sun he’s been getting. “You gonna leave me to myself on my weddin’ night, Eugene?” he asks, one eyebrow twitching up archly, voice thick with a Southern accent that doesn’t belong to him.

None of it belongs to him, actually, and Harry’s eyes narrow. “Take that off,” he says wearily, shaking his head. 

“You take it off,” Eggsy returns and Harry’s eyes snap back to him. His smile widens fractionally and he twirls around, gliding off on bare feet, disappears out of eyesight. 

There’s nothing for it but to follow him, Harry figures, so he climbs the stairs, peering into the room Eggsy’s taken up residence in. It’s just as quaint as the rest of the house, muted colors and simple furniture testifying to the Spartan tastes of the owners. 

The bed is just as white as the wedding dress. Eggsy reclines on it gracefully, head tilted to face the doorway as Harry appears in it. He nods to the empty spot beside him, voice low as he urges ‘Eugene’ to join him. But Harry stays where he is, sighing lightly. 

“I’m not Eugene,” he says. “And we should go, none of this is ours.” 

Eggsy props himself up on one elbow, staring at him intently. “Never said it was. We’re only borrowin’, Eugene. Nothin’ wrong with borrowin’.” He lets the veil fall from around his face, getting to his feet and padding over to him silently. One hand lifts to rest gently on Harry’s chest, his eyes fixed on it briefly before they flit up to meet his gaze. “Somethin’ old,” he starts in his usual voice, index finger tapping his chest, playful grin flitting briefly over his face. “Somethin’ new.” He moves his hand to press it against his own chest. “Somethin’ borrowed.” He runs his hand down the wedding dress and Harry’s eyes follow its path involuntarily. “An’ my balls have been blue since you fucked those guys over at the gas station, so I think we’ve got a weddin’.” 

Harry can’t help but let out a startled laugh. It peters out as Eggsy laces their fingers together, tugging him over towards the bed insistently. 

“You promised, Eugene,” he says, affected accent making itself known once more. “You said ‘I do’, remember? I’ve got you till death do us part and I wanna use it. Don’t you?”

The back of Eggsy’s knees hit the bed and he sits down heavily, pulling Harry in between his spread legs, the dress crushed between his shins and the mattress. Eggsy guides his hand to his knee, curls both of their fingers around the fabric and tugs a bit, insistent. 

For a moment Harry is still. He gazes down into Eggsy’s upturned face, the pleading look he sees there settling low in his gut. Finally, he sighs. “Can I be myself, please?” 

“You ain’t yourself anyways.” 

Well. He had a point. “Lie back for me, Bernard,” he says, slipping into his own version of the accent. 

A delighted grin spreads over Eggsy’s face and he obediently scoots further back onto the bed, stretching out on his side and looking up at Harry expectantly. 

He lays down next to him, taking in the slowly fading smile and letting go of whatever it is Harry would think. That’s not the point of this. The point is his new husband is lying here in front of him, waiting for him to speak. “When I wake up tomorrow,” he begins, “it won’t be because the sun is rising.” His hand reaches up to cup the side of his face, Eggsy’s eyes closing as he leans into the touch, smile turning more soft than triumphant. 

“I’m gonna wake up tomorrow cause I know you’re waiting for me. And when night comes around again and the stars are all hung in the sky I won’t even have to look at them cause you’ll outshine them all.” His hand can’t seem to keep still, sweeping along the curve of his neck, fingers trailing along the neckline of the dress, returning to rest on his cheek. “I love you, more than I’ve ever loved anything.” And he leans forward to kiss him. 

Eggsy’s lips are surprisingly soft, parting readily under his touch. His body melts, turns pliable as Harry pulls him into his arms, hands curling into the front of his shirt as if to pull him close and keep him there. 

“Turn over,” Harry murmurs and Eggsy does so without protest, pillowing his head on his arm. He feels the dress loosen around him, start to fall from his shoulders as the zipper goes further and further down. When he sits up, guided by Harry’s hands, the sleeves slide halfway down his arms, revealing a whole new expanse of skin. Lips press gently to his shoulders, the nape of his neck, warm breath sending a shiver down his spine. 

They aren’t Harry and Eggsy again for a very long while. 

-

That night is the same as all the others. Harry rents two separate rooms but they only end up needing one, Eggsy and his overlarge nightshirt ending up in the bed across from him. 

They spend a while staring up at the ceiling in silence, the only sound the faint hum from the air conditioner. 

Eventually, Harry breaks that silence. “What’s in Boone?” 

Eggsy’s brow furrows but he doesn’t answer, just blinks up at the popcorn plaster. 

Harry’s head flops to one side, staring at him intently. The silence stretches on. He reaches over and flicks the light off without comment. 

It’s still dark when he wakes up, the room an eerie blue-black. He sits up to see Eggsy’s hunched form huddled in one corner of the bed. His shoulders shake and his arms are wrapped around his knees as he tries unsuccessfully to swallow down the sobs wracking his small frame. 

A pang of guilt shoots through Harry and he peels back the covers, goes to kneel in front of him. “I’m sorry. For asking,” he clarifies. “I shouldn’t have-“

“Everythin’,” Eggsy whispers, interrupting him. “Everythin’ was in Boone.” 

-

They’re shopping for groceries when they discover who they’re going to be next. 

Eggsy’s meandering down an aisle, basket in hand, when he stops abruptly enough that Harry almost runs into him. He’s about to chastise him for coming to a halt like that when he follows the direction of his gaze. 

Through the window they watch a young couple, a budding photographer and his subject. She purses her lips, blows him a kiss and he snaps a picture, holds her arms up and flexes and he takes another. 

Eggsy’s eyes are positively gleaming. 

The man wears too many layers, Harry thinks, reclining at his desk and flipping idly through a book of poems. He’s got on one of his shirts, a plaid overshirt accompanying it and a bulky jacket completing the ensemble. All in all, not his typical attire. 

At least he’s not the only one in a ridiculous get-up. Eggsy trounces in wearing what could only be called a sexed-up sailor suit, navy blue fabric stopping about halfway down his thighs, if that, a red and white sash tied off around his waist. The rest of his legs are covered by black leggings and he’s balanced surprisingly well in a pair of guady red heels. Oversized sunglasses hide his eyes despite the fact that they’re indoors. 

Harry’s just about to mention how tacky that is when Eggsy pops out one hip, propping his hand on it jauntily and lowering said sunglasses about halfway down his nose. Posing. He scrambles to grab the camera, lining up the shot through the viewfinder of the ancient Polaroid. There’s the click of the button, a flash of light, and then the picture’s rolling out. Harry catches it before it can flutter to the floor, shaking it a few times to help the ink set and holding it out to Eggsy for his inspection. 

He grimaces when he sees it, striking another pose almost instantly.

By the time they make it to the bed they’ve used up half a roll of film, several of the photos little more than a blurred mess. It’s been a long time since Harry used a Polaroid. Gratefully, he sheds two of his layers, leaving the clothes piled on the floor behind him. Eggsy ditches it all, sitting across from him in nothing more than his boxer briefs. 

“Give that here, ‘s my turn,” he says, reaching for the camera. 

Harry hands it over, lets Eggsy take a few experimental shots of his own. There’s a particularly bad one with a big white spot right over his eye, making it look as if he’d only got one. He can’t help but laugh at it and Eggsy laughs with him, says it’s a good thing he wasn’t the one trying to make a career out of photography. 

“One more,” he says a moment later. He leans in next to Harry, turns to face the camera. “Smile.” 

A flash of white and the picture is half spit out. They’re too busy kissing each other to look at it. 

Eggsy only remembers it when they’re about to leave, Harry changing back into the clothes he’d come in. He carefully pulls it out of the camera, studying the photograph. His own face smiles back at him, but Harry isn’t facing the camera at all. Instead he’s looking at him with an expression Eggsy didn’t know Harry was capable of. Warm. Impossibly soft. Suddenly it’s a little harder to breathe and he folds the picture in half, sticking it into his jacket pocket. 

“Ready to go?” he asks when Harry re-emerges from the room. At his nod they head out, slipping back out the window and heading on their way. 

-

They stop in the middle of the night at a small, dingy diner, open by some miracle. There are no other customers and the wait staff look like they want nothing more than to go home. But the food is decent and Eggsy looks hungry enough to eat anything at that point. 

Harry stabs a sausage link with his fork, brings it halfway up to his mouth, sets it back down. “We don’t have to do this all the time,” he says, voice low enough that they aren’t likely to be overheard. 

Eggsy pauses, glancing up at him briefly before dropping his eyes back down to his plate. His fingers curl a little tighter around the fork he’s holding.

“I could be Harry, you could be Eggsy. We could be ourselves.” Or as close as they usually get to ‘themselves’ anyways. “It doesn’t always have to be someone else.” 

For a little while nothing happens. Then Eggsy takes another bite of his food. He doesn’t say anything. 

Harry lingers a little longer in the shower that night, letting the steaming water roll over his shoulders, down his back, the heat soothing him. The water pressure in their hotel of choice is heavenly. Finally he shuts it off, not bothering to towel off before getting into his pyjamas. He does take one to his hair, head half-encased by it as he swings the door open. “You might want to wait until morning to take a shower,” he starts apologetically. “I think I used up all the hot-” He trails off as all he sees is an empty room. “Eggsy?” he asks, not altogether sure what he’s expecting. It’s not like there are any places for him to hide. 

Heart pounding in his chest he steps out of the room, glancing around at the empty corridor and the sprawling parking lot. Nothing catches his eye until he glances over towards the pool. A strange sense of déjà vu washes over him when he spies the familiar form huddled on a deck chair. 

Slowly he makes his way over to him, bare feet silent on the concrete. Wordlessly, he sits in the deck chair next to Eggsy’s, looking into the pool. Dim lights shine from within giving it a sickly green appearance. 

To his surprise, Eggsy speaks first without being prompted. “I done a lot of bad shit, Harry. Eggsy has. It ain’t a lot of fun, bein’ him.” He leans his head back against the white slats, looking up at the star-peppered sky. “You wouldn’t want to be with a person like him. An’ don’t say some bullshit about how you would, cause you don’t know me, yeah? You ain’t got the first idea what’s goin’ on up here.” He taps his index finger against the side of his head, forms his fingers into the shape of a gun and pulls the trigger. His hand falls back down to his lap and he falls silent. 

“Maybe I don’t know you either, but don’t that just make it even better? Those other people, bein’ them… it gives us a blank slate,” he says, and he finally looks over at Harry. He looks tortured, like every word is sticking in his throat and he’s pulling them out one at a time. “Don’t know about you, but I always wanted one of those.” 

Harry can’t exactly argue with that, given his own behavior. But fuck it, he’s always been stubborn and he decides to try anyways. “It’s going to catch up to us eventually, you know,” he says quietly, and he knows he’s got Eggsy’s attention by the way his head jerks over to look at him. “You’re running away from the one thing you’ll never get away from. We both are. But,” he heaves a sigh, scrubs a hand across his face, “we’ll have to stop eventually.”

For a while the only sound is the chirping of cicadas. Eventually, Eggsy shifts, sits up, reaches out and winds his fingers through Harry’s. “When we get there, then,” he says and it sounds like a promise. 

Sunlight forces Harry’s eyes open the next morning. Sleeping on a pool chair has not done his back any favors and he groans as he hauls himself into a sitting position, mouth stretching open in a yawn. Eggsy is still asleep on the chair beside his, curled in on himself even though it’s far too warm for him to be cold. 

A few children have claimed the pool, yelling and splashing around. One young boy surfaces near them, head tilting curiously to one side. 

Harry doesn’t say anything, just reaches over and shakes Eggsy awake. 

-

They park at a small, abandoned gas station to eat. The road is completely empty, has been almost since they left the hotel and Eggsy’s been blasting the radio even louder than usual. They’ve turned it off now that they’ve stopped, the only sound the wind wailing through the empty building. Harry would find it almost eerie except for the young man sprawled out nearly naked in the backseat of his car. Makes it rather difficult to focus on much else if he’s honest. 

“For the sun,” Eggsy had explained as he casually stripped off his shirt, shucking his pants soon afterwards. He’d been left in nothing more than his boxers as he flopped down, closing his eyes and tilting his head back. 

Harry leans against the passenger door, trying to pretend like he’s looking at the scenery instead of sneaking peeks. The next time he glances over his shoulder he’s greeted by Eggsy’s brilliant green gaze and he whips back around guiltily. 

“Harry,” Eggsy says and he scrambles to come up with some sort of defense. But it turns out there’s no need as the next words out of his mouth are, “What did you do? Before. Who was Harry Hart?” 

Unbidden, a series of memories flash through his head. The snap of bone, the crack of a gunshot, screams that he can’t drive out echoing in his ears. He gives it a sharp shake to drive it out, glancing away from Eggsy. 

After a long beat of silent Eggsy props himself up on his elbows, brow furrowed in concern. “…Harry?” 

Harry waits until the screams fade out before pushing off the car, making his way over to the driver’s side door. “I wasn’t anyone.” 

-

They drive unwittingly into suburbia, Eggsy thankfully fully clothed once more. Harry can see him perk up, attention grabbed by the glimpse of a lifestyle he’s obviously not used to. The white picket fences, neatly manicured lawns, and faint smell of barbeque all seem achingly familiar and his grip tightens fractionally around the wheel. 

Eggsy doesn’t seem to notice, too enraptured by the cookie-cutter lifestyle of the white, middle-class American. He lets out a long, low whistle as they pass rows of gleaming cars, turning back to Harry with suggestively raised eyebrows. “Wanna play at bein’ rich?” he asks, voice lowered conspiratorially. 

After that they turn predatory, gazes sharpening to ferret out a potential target. There are plenty of them, the people here turned soft by their sense of false security. Now it just becomes a case of what skins would be the most interesting to slip into.

When they see it there isn’t even a question. Harry and Eggsy swap a meaningful glance, Harry cutting the car’s engine at the start of the of the winding drive. The place is practically a mansion. Three stories high, settled neatly on the top of a hill, and guarded by a spiky, black gate that looks like it’ll take the blink of an eye to slip through. Whoever lives there has to be a person worth being. 

Night finds Harry’s car ditched in an abandoned parking lot a few blocks away and two figures slipping silently through the sleepy neighborhood. His first assessment about the gate proves to be spot-on. Eggsy’s skinny enough to just squeeze himself through the railings and it’s the work of a moment for Harry to haul himself up. He gets a raised eyebrow for that, a slow, deliberate drag of Eggsy’s eyes over his body, but he doesn’t give him time to comment before he’s making his way towards the sprawling house. 

The security system proves as laughable as the gate, but Harry doesn’t miss the look Eggsy gives him out of the corner of his eye as he disables it. Keep on like this and he’s going to make him suspicious, Harry thinks. 

He decides it’s utterly and entirely worth it when he spots Eggsy (Lionel, they’ve decided) leaning back against the edge of the pool table. He’s shed most of his clothes, replaced his boxers with lacy black panties and draped a fur stole around his shoulders. Apart from that he’s completely bare and Harry (Richard) nearly drops the drink he’s just finished fixing. 

Lionel extends one arm out halfway, crooks his finger in an obvious invitation. 

Richard wasn’t waiting on one anyways. He drifts forward, drink all but forgotten as he sets it on the edge of the pool table, hands settling on either side of the younger man’s hips. Legs encircle his waist, tug him into the warm heat between his thighs. 

“I been wonderin’ somethin’,” Eggsy whispers, fingers tangling in Harry’s hair, hips rolling slow and sensuous. He’s adopted a ridiculously thick Russian accent that would tempt Harry to smile if he couldn’t feel the hard line of his cock pressing against his abdomen, shifting with another roll of his hips. 

“You have?” he asks, one hand leaving its resting spot on the pool table, moving instead to the small of his back. Fingers dip below the waistline of the lace, earn him a shiver and a slight hitch in Eggsy’s breath. 

“Been wonderin’,” he says, once he’s regained some of his composure, “why you ain’t fucked me yet.” 

Harry stills. Eggsy’s accent is gone. Almost wary, he pulls back enough to get a good look at Eggsy’s face, finds his eyes hard and clear. “Are you… are we…” He doesn’t even know what he’s asking, but he doesn’t have to puzzle over it long. 

Eggsy’s hands drop to the sash on Harry’s robe, loosely tied around his waist. Nimble fingers make quick work of the knot and he pushes it off his shoulders, leaving him in nothing but his shorts. Then his mouth is on Harry, moving across his shoulder, up his neck, teeth scraping lightly over his jaw. It pauses when it reaches his ear, his breath the only thing Harry can hear besides the pounding of his own heart. “I want you. I want Harry, whoever that is, whatever he’s done.” His voice gentles, almost cracks. “Please.” 

And Harry would have given him anything, everything, but at that moment the sound of a car crunching on gravel comes to them, headlights flashing through the window. 

“Shit,” Harry hisses, both for the danger they’re in and for the sake of his aching cock. They’ll have to resume this conversation later. For now it’s scrambling to find clothes and get out as quickly as they can. 

They just make it, the front door swinging open right as they sneak out the back. They don’t stop to find out whether or not the owner will question why there’s a glass of brandy and a fur stole draped across the pool table. 

-

Adrenaline pushes Harry over the speed limit, has them flying down the blessedly empty streets. Until Eggsy’s hand circles one of his wrists, tugs a little. He has to lean in close to hear him, the wind whipping away whatever he’s trying to say the first time. 

“Pull over,” Eggsy repeats and this time Harry catches it. 

He slows them, eases the car off the road, and eventually puts the brakes on fully. When he tugs the key out it falls completely silent, the darkness folding them up inside itself, offering solace. 

Eggsy isn’t looking at Harry; his eyes are fixed on his lap, fingers tugging at each other nervously. “I told you Eggsy had- I had done some bad shit,” he starts, sounding younger than he is. “An’ you asked what was in Boone.” He swallows thickly and Harry doesn’t press but neither does he offer him an out, attempt to stop him. “My mum’s there. An’ my sister. Daisy. At least, they were, before I left them.” 

“Why wouldn’t they still be there?” Harry prompts gently, gaze fixed on Eggsy’s face. 

It changes at that, mouth tightening, eyes screwing up in what could only be described as a pained look. “My dad died when I was real young,” he says and it’s not an answer to Harry’s question, not yet, but it’s a start. “Queen and country needed him more than we did, I guess. Things got real bad after that, with mum drinkin’ up what money dad had managed to leave us and then her gettin’ hitched up with Dean. My stepdad,” he clarifies. “He was nice at first. Paid for shit, helped mum out with things around the house, got her pregnant. It was after Daisy was born that he got ugly, started hittin’ me, hittin’ her, spendin’ more than he brought in and blamin’ it on mum.” His tone turns acidic, hatred for the man seeping into his voice. “He didn’t like me much. Especially once I started lookin’ for a job. I think he thought mum would leave him if I proved I could take care of her and one day I just… left. Packed up a bag, flew off to Florida, and-“ he breaks off, gesturing at their surroundings. “I ain’t called to see if she’s alright or nothin’ I just left her there with him cause I was too fuckin’ scared to do anythin’ else.” 

The explanation seems to have taken something out of him. He slouchs down into the seat, one foot propped up on the dashboard, arms crossed over his chest. It’s a touch of his old defensiveness reasserting itself, the guard he’d dropped shuttering back up. “So that’s me. That’s Eggsy. I thought… I wanted you to know,” he admits, and he turns troubled eyes to Harry. 

Harry doesn’t like what he sees in them. Uncertainty, as if he’s expecting to be tossed out on his own again. Throwing Eggsy out isn’t exactly the first thing that comes to mind. “Eggsy…” he sighs, watches him flinch out of the corner of his eye. Words fail him. He can’t say that he’s sure they’re okay, or that he did the right thing. Can’t say anything really, because he wasn’t there. He has a truncated, biased version of the truth. What he does know is that he doesn’t care. He says as much and Eggsy’s head whips towards him, brow furrowed in confusion. 

“What?” he asks. 

“I said I don’t care,” Harry repeats. “You made a mistake. So do we all. I won’t irrevocably condemn you for it. That would hardly be fair of me, anyways,” he adds, mouth quirking up in a near-humorless smile. He can’t spill his own confession, of course; the skeletons in his closet are locked up far too tight, but he can attempt to erase Eggsy’s worry. At least he hopes he can. He reaches out for his hand, heaves an internal sigh of relief when Eggsy doesn’t pull away. “Thank you,” he says earnestly. 

Their fingers interlock and Harry uses that to tug him over. He comes somewhat reluctantly, seemingly unable to believe it would be that easy, but at the same time wanting to, needing to. But he allows himself to be pulled in for a kiss, soft and sweet, tasting of a forgiveness he’d not dared to ask for. 

Eggsy moans, tries to melt into him, gets interrupted by the gearshift that brushes against his chest. He glares down at it and Harry chuckles. 

“Come on.” Releasing his hand, he clambers out of the front seat and moves into the back, gesturing for Eggsy to join him. 

He does so without a hint of hesitation, choosing to just hop over the front seat as opposed to actually getting out and walking around. Ignoring Harry’s snort of amusement, he crawls onto the seat with him, draping himself over Harry, lying half on his chest. 

Now he can really mold himself to him and he takes full advantage of that, sealing their lips together again. There isn’t much heat or passion to it; Eggsy still isn’t completely convinced Harry is just going to set this aside and move on. After a bit he breaks away, staring down at him. His eyes linger on his lips, the lines of his face, the amber-brown eyes that were always the same no matter who Harry had been playing. He opens his mouth to say something without knowing exactly what. “Gimme a sec,” is what comes out. 

Harry’s brow furrows as Eggsy rolls off of him, leaning over the front seat and popping the trunk open. The younger man hops neatly out of the car and disappears around the back of it. He hears the zipper on Eggsy’s duffel, a slight shuffling sound as he riffles through the contents. Whatever he’s looking for doesn’t take him that long to find; soon he slams the trunk shut and settles himself into the backseat again. 

There’s a crumpled photograph in his hand and he offers it to Harry. 

Whatever Harry has been expecting, this isn’t it. He accepts it anyway, squints to see it as best he can in the silver light the moon casts. It’s full that night, letting him see the basic shapes if not the details.

It’s from the day when they’d pretended to be a photographer and his subject, the last picture they’d taken. Harry had completely forgotten about it, had no idea Eggsy had kept it. He glances between him and the picture, puzzled. 

Eggsy sucks in a breath and waits until Harry’s eyes are back on it instead of him. “The way you’re lookin’ at me in that,” he starts, shifting uncomfortably, “did you mean it?” 

The picture might have been taken weeks ago, but he can still recall exactly how he’d felt in that moment. He nods once, slowly. “I did,” he says and finally Eggsy catches his gaze again. 

“Do you still mean it?” he asks after a beat. 

Another slow nod. “I do.” He almost doesn’t have a chance to catch his breath before Eggsy is on him, not going for half-draped on top of him this time. He pushes Harry’s legs apart with his hips, settling in between them. Their faces are mere inches apart and Harry becomes very aware of his own heartbeat. He seems to be aware of everything, the heat of Eggsy’s body over his, the way his eyes flash silver in the moonlight, the slight brush of their chests as Eggsy hovers over him. 

“Eggsy,” he breathes, because he’s never had that privilege before. One hand reaches up to cup his cheek and the boy’s eyes flutter closed, his head leaning into it. 

A murmured, “Harry,” makes its way past his lips before he captures them, silencing him. 

He’s tasted him before, of course, has come to know his body over the time they’ve spent together. But it’s different this time. There seems to be a sharper tang on his tongue as he licks into his mouth, a softness to his lips that wasn’t present before and Harry savors him, savors Eggsy as he really is. 

As he really is, it turns out, is quite responsive. Everything he does seems to pull a sound from him, a moan, a gasp, a muttered ‘fuck’ and Harry savors those too. He doesn’t know how many chances he’ll get to have him like this and he wants to remember everything he can. 

His free hand moves to rest in the small of his back, doesn’t stay there long before it’s sliding his shirt up, fingers resting just past the waistband of his jeans. It’s only when Eggsy rolls his hips against him insistently that he breaks away. “We can’t,” he sighs, trying to ignore the disappointment quickly filling lust-blown eyes. “I don’t have… anything.” He doesn’t want him thinking it’s because of who he is (or rather, isn’t) but he was planning on coming on this trip alone and anything they might manage to ferret out of the glove box will be well past usable. 

To his surprise Eggsy just grins, rolling his eyes. He shifts, burying a hand in his pocket. He pulls out a small bottle and a foil package for Harry’s inspection. “Did you think I only kept old pictures in my bag?” he teases, rocking his hips again. 

Harry doesn’t respond beyond canting his own upwards to give them more friction and he’s not likely to forget the look on Eggsy’s face after that any time. Eggsy bends over him, bracing his arms on either side, struggling to draw in breath as Harry does it again. 

“Je-Jesus,” he stutters. Harry’s not even sure he meant to say it, thinks he would prefer it if that were the case. A firm hand on his chest stops him before he can do it a third time and soon after there are fingers fumbling at the buttons of his pants. He arches up just long enough for Eggsy to tug them down, smirks at the way he bites his lip because of it. 

It’s a bit of a trick for Eggsy to wiggle his way out of his own jeans, tight as they are, but he manages it well enough, is soon straddling Harry’s thighs and bending over to kiss him again like he’d already forgotten how he tasted. Harry’s hands settle on his hips and hold him steady as Eggsy nuzzles into his neck, tongue darting out to catch the sweat beading at the back of it. 

Harry does his own exploring, hands burrowing under his T-shirt, sliding along the expanse of skin he finds there. The pad of his thumb catches on his nipple and Eggsy shudders, moaning heatedly into his skin. The next time his fingers swipe over it it isn’t an accident and this time it’s teeth meeting his neck. Harry hums, deciding it’s high time Eggsy didn’t have a shirt on at all. He rucks it up, tugging on it until he gets the point and soon it lies crumpled on the floor of the car. 

Eggsy sits back, letting out a long slow breath as he feels Harry’s eyes on him. They travel over the planes of his chest, follow the light dusting of hair as it narrows, disappearing behind thin, black fabric. Fingers follow the path his eyes took, tugging at the elastic. The meaning isn’t lost on Eggsy and soon they’re gone as well, leaving him with a blush that travels halfway down his chest. He crosses his arms self-consciously, unable to meet Harry’s eyes. “Did you just wanna look at me?” he mutters when he makes no move to do anything else. “Ain’t exactly fair, you lyin’ there with your shorts on and me with-“ 

Whatever he was going to say is lost in a gasp as Harry wraps his hand around his shaft, thumb wiping roughly over its head. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, keeping back the small whine of need. But closed lips can’t stop the way he arches into the touch, the hitch in his chest as his breath catches, the way his eyes flutter closed and his head tilts back ever so slightly.

“Did I interrupt you?” Harry asks innocently, giving him a long, leisurely stroke as he does. “Terribly sorry about that. That wasn’t very gentlemanly, was it?” 

Eggsy’s hand slaps lightly against his chest, laughing breathlessly. “Don’t want you to be a gentleman anyways,” he smirks, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on it. He leans over, trapping Harry’s hand between their bodies, rocking his hips forward to fuck himself into it. “I saw the way you fought at that bus station, the way you climbed over that fence. Seen what you’re hidin’ under this shirt.” He plucks at it, stops talking long enough to peel it off. After the brief interruption his mouth is right back where it started, lips ghosting over Harry’s with every word. “Want you to fuck me like that Harry. The real Harry.” He might not know much about Harry Hart but he knows enough to figure out he was a dangerous man. Dangerous and powerful. 

It’s Harry’s turn to swallow back a moan, Eggsy brushing over his aching cock with every slow thrust forward. His free hand pushes his own underwear off, slides it as far down his legs as he can without having to move. Eventually Eggsy notices and moves back long enough for him to kick them off completely. 

The next roll of his hips slides their cocks against each other, twin gasps breathed into the night. Harry would be content with that were it all he got, but Eggsy is neither so patient nor so easily satisfied. He’s still young, after all. Blindly, lips pressed to Harry’s, he gropes for the foil package he’d pulled out earlier, finds it and opens it without having to pull away. He rolls it on with a deftness that speaks of experience, reaching for the bottle next. 

Harry props himself up on his elbows to better see Eggsy as he slicks up his fingers, reaches behind him. His face has never been what one would call guarded and Harry can read the exact moment he slips inside himself. He watches him stretch himself out, thighs trembling as he holds himself over Harry, lips parting to let out clipped gasps. Harry can’t help but reach out and touch, palms skimming up the sides of his body, stopping just below his ribcage. 

Soon Eggsy is reaching for the lube again, coating his hand and wrapping it around Harry’s cock. He braces himself against his chest with one hand, lowering himself onto him torturously slow. Inch by inch he’s enveloped by the tight heat until they’re pressed skin to skin again. Eggsy lets out a shuddering breath, the hand he’s bracing himself with curling into a fist, blunt nails scraping along Harry’s chest. 

After he adjusts to the burn, the stretch, he starts to move. He quickly gets himself into a rhythm, sliding up Harry’s cock and back down, hips rolling each time he bottoms out. His lips twitch into a smug smile at the litany of gasps and moans Harry can’t keep back, the marks his fingers leave on his thighs where he’s clutching him like a lifeline. 

Once Harry regains some semblance of rational thought he eases his hold on the younger man, moves his hands to his hips instead to feel the way he moves. He gets a sense for it and then, on Eggsy’s next slide downward, snaps his hips up, driving into him without warning. 

“Fuck!” Eggsy cries out, eyes flying wide open. He wants to scowl at the triumphant grin on Harry’s lips but he feels too damn good to bother. Feels even better when he repeats the motion, has to clamp his lips together to keep from crying out a second and then a third time. His breath comes faster and he increases his pace, stoking the fire starting to grow in the pit of his stomach. It flares further into life when there’s a hand around his cock, stroking him to the same rhythm as their thrusts and he can’t keep his mouth shut any longer. 

Music to Harry’s ears. He circles his thumb around the head of his cock, wipes away the precome beading at the tip and brings his finger to his mouth to lap it off. Loves the way Eggsy’s eyes darken as he watches it happen. A few more well-timed thrusts, a finger or two tracing a path down to his balls and he’s coming, striping his stomach and Harry’s chest in white. The way he clenches around him is enough to bring him over the edge as well, the orgasm flashing through him white-hot.

They collapse back onto the seat, sweat-soaked and panting, limbs tangled together so they don’t know where one of them ends and the other begins. Eggsy tucks his head up underneath Harry’s chin, letting out a contented sigh. “Harry?” 

“Hmmm?” Harry hums, cracking open one eye, glancing down to see him as best he can. 

“I think I like it better this way.” 

-

“Why are we stoppin’?” Eggsy mumbles, peeling his eyes open as the car rolls to a halt. He stretches like a cat, luxuriating in the warm afternoon sunlight as he gives Harry a curious glance, waiting for his answer. 

Harry pulls the keys out of the ignition trying to shove down the unease that comes with the sharp crack of gunshots that suddenly fill the air. 

Eggsy’s head whips around towards the noise, eyes widening slightly. “The fuck are we doin’ here?” he asks, sounding more confused than ever. 

A valid confusion, of course. Harry unfolds himself from the car, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly until he feels calmer. He even manages to offer Eggsy a tight smile when he turns to face him, the other man getting out of the car himself, head tilted curiously to one side. “An introduction to my past,” he says and he seems to perk up at that, curiosity growing. 

“Was you a cop or somethin’?” he asks as Harry flicks open the trunk, the sound of gunfire fading into the background as the current clientele finish off their magazines. 

“Or something,” Harry says wryly. “Have you ever shot a gun?” He can’t give too much away even if he wanted to and it’s necessity that makes him switch the topic.  

Eggsy narrows his eyes at him and for a second he’s afraid he’ll push, try and ferret out exactly what it was he used to do. But he seems to accept that there are just some things he isn’t going to know and he only shrugs instead. “BBs, paintballs, shit like that. Never a proper one with real bullets or nothin’.” 

Harry nods, hauling Eggsy’s duffel out and setting it carefully on the ground before running his fingers along the bottom of the trunk. He peels the carpet up to reveal a small, hollowed out compartment with a small, black case nestled inside. Once he pulls that out, he replaces the bag, slamming the trunk shut again and resting the case on top of it. “Well this,” he begins, flicking open the clasps, “is a proper gun with real bullets.” 

Eggsy’s jaw drops open and he looks back and forth between him and the gun. “Fuckin’ hell. You’ve had this the whole time?” His surprise soon dies away, overwhelmed by curiosity. 

Harry checks the safety to make sure it’s still on, checks the magazine to make sure it’s empty, replaces it carefully in the case before flipping it shut and redoing the clasps. “Come on.”  
Eggsy trails after him into the gun range, Harry setting the case on the counter and sliding over enough to cover the rent fee. He adds another few bills to the stack, asks for ammo and protective gear. He passes the paper targets over to Eggsy to hold, hands him a set of thick glasses and some battered-looking headphones as well. 

“You’ll want to put those one before we head in there,” Harry tells him, nodding towards the headphones as he slips on his own. 

The world becomes muffled as he follows his instructions, settling the glasses on his face as well since he’ll have to sooner or later. Thinking that he probably looks a little ridiculous, he follows Harry through a second set of doors. As soon as he does he’s grateful for them, however unfashionable they might be. The crack of gunfire is nearly unceasing, several other patrons already holed up in their bays, firing off at targets, some near the small counters, some further away. They take up residence in the very last bay, the one furthest from the door and two over from the next closest shooter. Harry, it seems, wants the illusion of privacy. 

He opens the case up again, fingers resting briefly on the gun before he takes out the magazine, loads it up and snaps it back in with an air of familiarity. “I’ll be back in just a second,” Harry says and he slips off back the way he came, taking the paper targets from Eggsy as he goes. He returns with a stack of cardboard, the targets stapled to each one, and leans them up against the counter next to him. 

Wordlessly, he clips one up to the hooks above him and pushes a small switch set into the counter forwards. With a whir the track he’s hooked it onto comes to life, sending the target out into the range, past the 7 yard line, the 15 yard line, doesn’t stop until it reaches 50 meters. Harry curls his fingers around the gun almost reverently, automatically thumbing the safety off. He lets out another long, slow breath, unaware of how intensely Eggsy is staring at him. 

Instinct takes over and he raises it in one smooth motion, unloading the clip into the target in front of him almost without pause. Only once the gun clicks emptily does the rest of the world come back to him and he lowers it slowly, half reluctant to let it go again. But eventually he does, setting it back in its case, and bringing the target back to them. 

Every shot has gone exactly where he wanted it to, the head and chest riddled with holes. Eggsy whistles, though Harry can only tell by the movement of his lips, his eyebrows raising as he takes it in. “Impressive, that,” he says, voice raised enough so he can hear him. 

Harry beckons him closer, flicking the safety back on for good measure. He holds the gun out to him when he gets close, nods to show he should take it. 

Hesitantly, Eggsy does, fingers gripping the base hard enough that his knuckles go white as Harry reloads it. Eggsy at least knows enough to be able to slide the magazine back into place, glancing over for guidance after that.  
“Keep the safety on and hold it out,” Harry says, taking advantage of a brief lull in the gunfire. “Let me see how you carry it.” 

Eggsy nods and extends the gun out in front of him. He tries to copy the way Harry had looked, but he hadn’t exactly been focused on his posture. 

When he seems settled into place Harry runs a critical eye over him. He moves up behind him, placing one hand on the back of his thigh on his right leg, pushing on it slightly. “Dominant foot forward,” he tells him, moving to his side to take up his own stance. “Spread your legs a little more.” 

Keeping the gun trained where it is, Eggsy does as he’s told, shuffling his right foot forwards and bracing against his back foot. 

Harry gives him a satisfactory nod, turning to hook up another target. It shudders to a halt at the 7 yard line and Eggsy screws his face up, looks like he’s about to protest, but he cuts in before he can. “We all start somewhere, Eggsy.” 

He swallows down whatever he’d been about to say, giving him a terse nod instead and fixing his eyes on the gray outline of a man. 

“Safety off. Both eyes open. When you’re ready.” With that Harry takes a few steps back, giving him his space. 

Eggsy zeroes in on the target, brow furrowing in concentration. Unbidden, he thinks of Dean’s face, imposes it onto the faceless target in front of him. His hands shake slightly and he forces the image away, makes himself see nothing more than paper. If he screams it’s lost in the gunfire. 

They don’t spend much time there, just enough to use up the rest of the their targets before they’re handing over everything but the gun, sweeping up the spent shells, and bidding the man at the front desk goodbye. 

Harry doesn’t start the car back up right away even after they’re both seated again, Eggsy staring straight out of the windshield. “Eggsy?” he prompts. 

It still takes a bit before he says anything and he sucks in a breath before he does, only looks at him out of the corner of his eye. “You said you were no one, when I asked you before,” he mumbles. “But you weren’t, were you? You meant somethin’, somethin’ that got you good at seein’ people more as targets than people.” 

Harry’s grip on the steering wheel gets just a bit a tighter, a muscle twitching in his jaw. 

Eggsy still doesn’t press. He doesn’t ask what that something was because he figures he won’t get a straight answer anyway. “Shame you ran away from him,” he says and now he does look over at him, smirking. “I think I could’ve liked a man like that.” 

Snorting, Harry rolls his eyes and starts the car. 

Eggsy turns the radio on as they make their way back onto the road and Harry turns it louder.  
-  
They lie curled into and around each other, Harry’s arm wrapped around Eggsy’s chest, legs tangled up with the sheets. 

The room grows dark as the sun sets outside their window, orange bars striping the carpet before melting away completely. Darkness completely overtakes them. 

Harry’s just drifting off to sleep when he hears Eggsy’s whisper. “Take me back to Boone.”  
-  
The brakes let out a shrill screech of protest as they pull up to a dull gray block of apartments, both of them turning to look at it simultaneously. 

Harry can see the tension creeping into Eggsy, tensing his shoulders up, making him go stiff. Still, he forces himself to move. Harry pops the trunk for him and he disappears momentarily; when he comes back into view the duffel is slung over his shoulder. 

He pauses by the driver’s side door, looking as if he’s found a bit of confidence or at least acting like he has. He gives him a jaunty salute of farewell, makes it a few paces before he halts abruptly. “Forgot somethin’,” he says, darting back over to him. 

Harry doesn’t get a chance to ask what before he’s being dragged into a kiss. It’s altogether too brief but he savors it because he knows he needs to. 

Eggsy doesn’t pull back far, just far enough to rest his forehead against Harry’s, their breath mingling between them. “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easy, Harry Hart,” he whispers and then he’s gone, throwing a wave and a smile over his shoulder as he heads towards whatever awaits him in those apartments. 

Harry lifts his own hand. He watches him until he disappears up a flight of stairs, sits in the parking lot a little longer just to give himself a chance to sort out his own thoughts a little more. The car springs to life under his touch and he turns his car in the direction of the nearest airport. He has 52 calendars to burn.   


End file.
